


give me one more chance (to love you)

by ironccap



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Love Confessions, M/M, Reunions, mention of self harm, these dumb men will see each other again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:40:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23811706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironccap/pseuds/ironccap
Summary: when presented with second chances, you should always take them, no matter what.however, when your soulmate dies and you are left all alone, the possibility of getting a second chance with them, is rather small.or so you'd think.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Nairobi | Ágata Jiménez, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote, Palermo | Martín Berrote & Helsinki | Mirko Dragic
Comments: 52
Kudos: 170





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maleclipse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maleclipse/gifts), [the berlermo gc](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=the+berlermo+gc), [tijana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tijana/gifts).



_220420_

_[the afterlife]_

"So what you're telling me is that you managed to escape out of the Mint, went to live in Argentina with Helsinki, had the time of your life, and then you decided to put everything on the line again? Please tell me I misheard you," Andrés said. He'd been busy working on a drawing of an old friend when he had felt another presence with him in the room. As if she had just appeared out of thin air, Nairobi had suddenly stood before him with a sad smile on her face. 

It was shocking to finally see her again, but in some way, it felt nice, too. 

"No, you heard that correctly. That's exactly what happened," the soft, female voice sounded through the garden. Nairobi had walked over to Andrés as soon as she had seen him sit there, next to the big white table in the garden. 

Andrés laughed genuinely. "Ah, Nairobi. Why am I not even surprised? I knew you guys would come together again, one way or another."

Nairobi just smirked. Andrés was right. The years spent with Helsinki had been wonderful. But while they were enjoying their lives, Nairobi had had several moments during those years, where her mind had wandered off to the heist in the Mint, almost nostalgically thinking back on those days, and wishing she could do them over again. 

"We lost Rio, we promised each other we would rescue him. I'm glad we did. He's been through hell and back," Nairobi whispered. We all have, she wanted to add, "I could say that we all did this heist for him. But that wouldn't be the full truth. Of course we did this heist to rescue him. But honestly, we all had our own reasons," she continued, "Sergio told us this was an idea of yours. He came to us with the plan." 

"He did this for me", Andrés simply stated. It wasn't a question. He knew his brother well enough. Letting go had never been something he could do well. 

Nairobi just nodded in confirmation. 

"And all of you went along with it.” Now he was shaking his head, looking rather amused. A short silence fell, but it was a nice one. 

"Those heist plans," he took a deep breath before he spoke again, "they weren't finished."

"They were," Nairobi retorted, "Well, actually, they weren't when Sergio assembled us all to come to the monastery. But we stayed there for a few weeks, while they tried to finish off all the loose ends." 

They?

_Oh, no._

"You say 'they' were finishing the plans. Who else was involved, besides Sergio?" He was almost certain he did not want to hear the answer to this question, but he had to ask. He had to know - know if what he was suspecting, would be confirmed.

As if reading his mind, Nairobi just smirked at him. But not in an arrogant or rude way, but with understanding and compassion. 

"I think you know who."

_Martín_.

Beautiful, wonderful engineer of mine, he thought.

Andrés averted his eyes from Nairobi. He couldn't look at her. It was too much. 

"He's going to get himself killed," he shakingly said. He and Martín had both always known that their plan was not one hundred percent waterproof. It was more like 99 percent. 

But then again, what was that 1 percent compared to ninety-nine?

To Andrés, one percent was a lot. It had been the reason he had let go of Martín, all those years back. He had been sick, so sick that he wasn't going to make it to fifty, or maybe not even to forty-five. Maybe it wouldn't even have taken him a week to die. 

His fate had been decided long ago. He had made peace with it, he really had. Growing old wasn't suited for him anyway. 

But then, Martín had been there, in the monastery. Confessing his love for Andrés, by kissing him with all the passion he could muster. And Andrés, who had never felt anything even close to what he felt with Martín ever before, had been in shock. And so scared.

Scared, because Martín had given him something to live for. And he couldn't accept it. He wanted to, so badly, but he couldn't. He had already made peace with his death. 

So, he did the only thing he could think of. He had left Martín. But not before he let him know just how much he loved him, as well. He wanted Martín to move on, to heal in peace. Staying with him would have made that impossible. He had wanted to protect him.

God, he missed him.

"Yeah," Nairobi said, snapping Andrés out of his thoughts. "I don't think he cares about dying."

Ouch. Andrés' gaze snapped back up again, to meet Nairobi's. 

"He tried to escape. He'd put on a suit and everything. He was going to walk right through the doors of the bank, fully well aware of the fact that there would be snipers, policemen, tanks and bullets waiting for him on the other side of those doors. Helsinki had to physically restrain him," she added. 

Martín, his Martín, being involved in the heist they spent years planning. Andrés couldn't process it all just yet. 

"Is he okay?" Andrés knew the question was unnecessary to ask. 

It hurt Andrés to think about Martín. Yet, he did it quite a lot. His mind would often wander back to the happy times they'd had together. The weeks they spent on the heist plans, that turned into months, that turned into years. The nights spent dancing around in the monastery, or talking about the heist plans, about art, about life in general. To Andrés, it didn't matter what he was doing, as long as it was time spent with Martín. 

"I don't think he is. I think that, whatever it was that happened between the two of you, clearly left his mark on him," Nairobi said. She didn't say it in an accusing kind of way, but it felt like it anyway. Andrés could only avert his gaze once more.

He and Martín had this extraordinary something between them. He could spend hours talking about their bond, and yet it was something indescribable. But it was theirs, and no one or nothing could take it away from them. 

Or, so Andrés had thought all those years back, before the unthinkable had happened. His disease had turned his life around, it had tried to take control. 

Andrés hadn't wanted that. Not even in the slightest. He liked being in control of everything that happened in his life. He had refused to let his disease make the decisions for him.

By leaving Martín, he had hoped to save him. He had hoped he would give Martín back his life. 

But instead, he'd taken a part of Martín with him, leaving him a mess, unfixable. 

And Martín had also stolen a part of Andrés when he kissed him that one night. Those pieces connected them, and would always connect them - even in death. 

Andrés carefully stopped drawing to wipe away at a tear that had formed in his eye. He stood up from the table and walked over to the lake. Without another word, Nairobi followed him.

"How did you know," Andrés broke the silence that had fallen once more.

"Know what?" Nairobi asked.

"That something must have happened. Between Martín and me," Andrés wanted to know. Had Martín talked about him? 

"I saw the way he reacted, whenever you were mentioned. He'd flinch a bit, but not enough to be extremely noticeable. He'd explain the plans for the heist almost nostalgic, as if he was mourning something, but in the meantime looking back at it fondly as well. Sometimes, he'd suddenly excuse himself from the table," Nairobi recalled.

There had been one particular day in the monastery, where everyone had been laughing and talking to each other, all around the big table in the garden, when Denver had suddenly started to talk about how he'd stolen Berlíns jacket. He had mocked Berlín’s voice, and had jokingly talked about his five failed marriages. Everyone had been laughing - except for Sergio and Martín, who had shoved back his chair and left the room, leaving everyone stunned. When Nairobi had walked by in the corridor, later on, she had heard glass breaking and muffled crying from inside his room but hadn't wanted to intrude. 

When Palermo had entered the kitchen the next morning, eyes puffy from crying, fresh bandages carefully wrapped around his arms, peaking out from under his sweater, everyone had collectively agreed not to mention any of it. 

"I was convinced it had something to do with you. Something that had left deep wounds, that were never given the care or time to heal. I didn't want to bring it up to him, but then things got ugly in the bank. He said some horrible things to me, so I lashed out with the knowledge I had gathered." 

Andrés hadn't moved at all since Nairobi had started to talk. He simply just stood there, his heart aching more with every passing second.

"I called him out on his love for you. How he'd kept it inside of him and never told you. How he didn't have the courage to do it."

"But he did," Andrés spoke up. 

"What?" Nairobi simply asked.

"He did have the courage. But I didn't," Andrés whispered. His Martín had been the brave one, wanting to fight for their love. 

But Andrés had had an illness to fight instead.

"He kissed me first. He kissed me, and it was all I could think about for the resting time I had. And I knew I should have stayed. I really should have. Martin was my soulmate, my other half. I just didn't want to put him through this hell."

"You loved him", Nairobi stated. She seemed to be taken aback by the sudden confession.

"I did. I still do. I've always loved him. It took me a while to come around, but once I realized, there was no way out. I wanted to tell him, but then I got diagnosed with my mother's illness." A sad smile wavered over Andrés' face. Thinking back on it, life hadn't been kind to him. But it all seemed so long ago, now.

"I told him I loved him the day I left him. In a way, leaving him was me already signing my own death sentence," Andrés concluded. 

He just hoped he hadn't signed Martín’s as well, that day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can always follow me on my [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/hannib4l).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things get ugly in the bank. martín keeps his promise to helsinki.

_[inside the bank of Spain]_

_22042020, 15:37_

Gunshots could be heard clearly in the halls of the Bank, and in less than a second, Palermo acted on them. 

When Sergio had appeared at Martín’s door more than three years after Andrés had passed away, all Martín could do was scream at him, lash out, and eventually cry. He had been so mad - furious even. How did Sergio even dare, when Martín had been through hell, back, and through hell again since the moment he'd found out Andrés had been riddled with bullets?

And yet, he had still agreed on participating in the heist. It had been a very important part of his life once and it still was. It wasn't something he could just let go of. Besides, it was the only thing he had left of Andrés, so maybe, he had thought, it would help him get stitched back together again. 

He saw Helsinki standing close to him without a vest, saw the bullets and realized they would be lethal - so he acted with the only emotion he knew the best; rage. He pushed Helsinki aside, to try and get them both out of there. He could feel the seething pain go through his entire body over and over again, but he just kept on running.

At 15:38, however, Palermo realized he was bleeding. A lot. His limbs had become numb, and breathing was getting harder. He came to a halt, slumping against the nearest wall, and pressed his side.

There was way too much blood. 

"Palermo!" he heard someone - Helsinki, he realized at the back of his mind - scream. His vision had started to blur before his eyes. He couldn't see anything clearly, though he could still see Helsinki’s figure coming closer. And he could hear Helsinki ordering Tokyo to get the bandages and the surgical set ready. 

His heart was beating slower.

Helsinki laid him down on the ground then and started to cut open his red overall so he could access the wound easier. Palermo could feel himself bleed at an alarming rate. It had become extremely difficult for Palermo to breathe and he couldn't go on like this any longer. He knew it. 

"Hermano, listen to me," Palermo rasped out. Helsinki kept his focus on the wound.

"Listen to me.” He grabbed both Helsinki’s arms and his attention when he spoke up again, "We both know that this has no use. There are at least three bullets that have pierced through my skin," he had to take a deep breath before speaking again, shivering, "I’m completely fucked, Helsi."

At 15:42, Palermo started to throw up blood. Simultaneously, breathing became even more difficult. 

"No! Don't say that,” Helsinki pleaded, “you're going to make it out alive. I won't lose anyone else, I told you that.”

"And I told you that I was going to get you out of here. Even if it means my death. You have to go, Helsinki! They'll be here any minute now," he said. Speaking was hard, but he wanted to make his point clear.

"No! You can't do this! You can't die, not like this!" Helsinki started to sob uncontrollably. It was Denver who was there to physically restrain him. 

"It's all good, Helsi. It is. You have to let me go. You have to let me go, promise me you'll let me go," Martín whispered. He wasn't scared anymore - he had looked death in the eye too many times before already, to be frightened by her; if anything, it all felt very familiar.

He briefly wondered if this was how Andrés must have felt, too, when his final seconds had gone in. 

In the distance, he could hear muffled screams coming from people, and Helsinki getting dragged away. He also heard the police coming closer to him. But he couldn't grasp it anymore. His mind had wandered off to other places, happier places.

Places where pain had been a foreign concept, where Martín had still felt alive. He remembered a particularly sunny afternoon, when he and Andrés had been sitting outside in the big garden of the monastery. Andrés had been drawing his surroundings, had even drawn Martín when he thought he wouldn't notice. 

Martín had, of course, noticed it, and it had caused butterflies to erupt in Martíns stomach. 

Then, another memory flashed by - of him and Andrés dancing in the monastery, by the fireplace. And another one, of Andrés standing close enough to feel his breath, and another one. It seemed as if his own life was flashing right before his eyes. All of the memories had Andrés in it, which made perfect sense considering the fact that Andrés had, in fact, been Martín’s life. 

The flood of memories came to an abrupt halt with the two last images vividly in Martín’s head. First, it was Andrés' face, tear-stained, after he had confessed his love for Martín and had lost him all in the same breath. The second one was the image of Andrés being carried out of the Mint in a body bag. Both of them had meant the loss of Andrés, both of them had made Martín die. 

And then, very suddenly, it was over. 

At 15:45, Martín’s heart stopped beating and he died for the third time in his life. 

And he died thinking about Andrés. Andrés had always been the epicenter of Martín’s existence. He would always be. He'd been the purpose of Martín’s life, and simultaneously the reason of his death on multiple occasions. But Martín didn't mind. 

If Andrés was going to be the death of him, then that was how he wanted to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! you can always find me on [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/hannib4l)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> at last, martín reunites with andrés.

_220420_

_[the afterlife]_

The moment Martín woke up again, he noticed three things. First of all, he didn't recognize the place he was in, but the colors looked bright and were almost shining. 

Secondly, he noticed that he wasn't alone. He could hear muffled voices coming from further away, close to a house. There were other people here, too.

And lastly, his wounds were gone. The place that the bullets had pierced him only moments ago, was now a clean, soft surface. That's when he realized he was actually dead. He had arrived somewhere else. 

He couldn't really grasp it. He'd always been an atheist, a nihilist even, with a pessimist view on everything. He'd thought there would be nothing, a dark void when you died. Just like there was also nothing before you were born. 

But, it turned out he was mistaken in his assumptions. 

He decided to explore his surroundings a bit more, walking to the direction of the sounds. He passed a little lake and a few trees that were growing apples.

The sound of the voices became louder, and suddenly the silhouettes became clearer to him. He saw two men, both bearded, sitting on chairs, laughing, playing a sort of board game. He didn’t recognize them. He hesitantly waited a bit, not wanting to intrude out of nowhere. 

Then, right when he was about to turn around, he saw _her_ coming out of the house. He stopped dead in his tracks. 

_Nairobi_.

He couldn’t quite believe the fact that she was standing right there in front of him. The last time he’d seen her was on the floor, with a bullet through her skull. Inflicted by Gandia, an assassin that he had freed during his mental breakdown. 

What had happened to Nairobi was something he would never forgive himself. He never thought that freeing Gandia would lead up to anything even close to that. 

If anything, him freeing Gandia had been a suicide attempt on his part. He knew that the homophobic, bigoted piece of shit hated him. He’d threatened to kill him before, as well. And Martin wouldn’t have minded dying in that instant anyway. The plan had been the only thing keeping him alive, and it had gone horribly wrong. 

There hadn’t been anything left.

Nairobi must have seen him too, because she walked over to him. He only stood there, unsure of what to do.

“Palermo?” she asked, her voice mirroring his disbelief. 

Martin just smiled at her weakly. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” he spoke up.

“What the fuck happened?” she asked him, curiously. He started laughing at that, shakily. It was a good question, really, because Martin himself hadn’t fully processed everything just yet.

“The police,” he started. “They’d suddenly been there. Way too close to us. They’d started to shoot. At me and Helsinki.” Martin saw Nairobi’s facial expression soften at the mention of the Serbian. 

“He wasn’t wearing a vest. I was, so I pushed him out of the way. I thought it would be okay, but the bullets hit me anyway. The police didn’t care. They just kept shooting at me,” he said bitterly. Of course the police did not care. They’d already made that clear many times before. 

Nairobi looked at him with a lot of sympathy. It reminded him of the look she’d given him when she’d exposed his biggest secret to the room. About his love for a dead man. But this look was softer, didn’t have the hatred in it, that was meant to hurt Martin. This look was compassionate. 

“Did they make it? Please tell me they did,” she said. 

“I don’t know. But I think they did. Helsi didn’t want to leave, at first. It was awful. He kept saying how he didn’t want to lose me as well. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whispered the last part, suddenly being overcome with guilt. 

“You don’t have to apologize. You saved their lives,” Nairobi remarked. 

“Did I? I don’t think I did. I’m a man that ruins everything he has. Everything and everyone I touch, dies.” Martin couldn’t even look Nairobi in the eye when he said it. He just broke down on the floor and let his tears flow freely. 

“I don’t blame you for my death, Palermo. No one does, but you. I know you didn’t realize the impact your deeds would have. Yes, you made a mistake. You did screw up, but all of us did at some point.”

“But -,” he tried. 

“No, listen here. You have to stop blaming yourself for everything that goes wrong. It’s been eating you alive, I’ve noticed it ever since I got to know you in that monastery. You have to let go of it. Not everything that goes wrong is your fault. You have to allow yourself to heal.”

“She’s right,” another familiar voice suddenly sounded from inside the house. 

_Andrés_.

Martin had frozen completely. This couldn’t be true. It couldn’t actually be him, could it now? 

He looked up, directly into the eyes of Andrés.

His Andrés, beautiful and enticing as ever, standing before him. He looked almost exactly like he had the day he had left him alone in the monastery for good. The only difference was his facial expression. Instead of troubled and distressed, he looked at Martin with a mix of disbelief, happiness, and even... hope? 

"Andrés," was all he could say. He couldn't believe it - that he was standing there, in front of him.

"Yeah, it's me." Andrés smiled. 

"This can't be real, this can't be happening." Martín was convinced he was just in another one of his dreams. That he would wake up, to find himself alone again in the monastery. It wouldn't have been the first time.

"H-how? Y-you are dead," Martín tried and that earned him a laugh from Andrés. 

"So is Nairobi, so are you, _my engineer._ " Andrés had stepped closer. 

"I saw it on TV. How they rolled your dead body out of the Mint. It was all I could think about for years. If I had just -" 

Martín got cut off immediately by Andrés saying, "No, don't do that. You're doing it again," 

"What?"

"Blaming yourself for something. Nairobi is right, Martín. You shouldn't blame yourself for everything that happens. You have to allow yourself to heal, to let go. To stop inflicting wounds on yourself."

Allow yourself to heal. That was easier said than done. Martin had spent years wishing for Andrés, crying and screaming into the void because of him and ripping everything that reminded him of Andrés to shreds. And now, he was there again - talking about healing, when he'd been the one that had torn everything apart.

Seeing him again was too overwhelming. Martín was feeling too much, too many emotions at once. So he did the only thing he could think of. The thing he had become exceptional in, because he used it as an armor to hide behind.

He lashed out. 

“I tried. I tried to heal, to forget, I tried not to blame myself for everything that I lose in my life. Carajo! I tried all of it, even tried to forget you, tried to forget your lips on mine, your hands all over me, your soothing voice, the years we spent together. You have it easy, saying how I should just move on, how distance would be the only way to get peace, when the only thing I could think of was you!”

Andrés remained speechless. He only stared at Martín.

“I wanted to die, Andrés. I even tried, on several occasions. To get away from the pain. It never worked. You have no idea where the pain took me!” Martin was screaming at this point, his face tear-stained, and frankly, he didn’t care. He didn’t care if anyone could hear him. Neither did he care about the fact that he’d just exposed one of his deepest secrets to Andrés. 

“You loved me. And yet, you let go of me, like a coward,” Martín whispered. Why couldn’t you have stayed, if you loved me that much? He thought. 

“Martín,” Martín had been unaware of the fact that Andrés had moved towards him. He was practically standing in his personal space. “Martín, listen to me. I never wanted to let go of you.” 

Andrés took a deep breath before he continued, “I was dying. I couldn’t do it. You’re right, I was a coward – am a coward. I regretted my decision every day of my life. You were everything to me, Martín, and I didn’t want you to suffer. I thought that if I left you, before anything could happen between us, that you wouldn’t be as affected by it. Sure, you’d be sad. But you’d move on,” he said. 

“But, I made a terrible miscalculation. Because the bond between us had been there all along. All those years, we’d already been together. For ninety-nine percent, at least,” Andrés was wiping away at the tears that had started to stream over Martin’s face. 

"I love you, Martín. I always have, and always will. I would have taken the chance, if it weren't for my disease. When I left you, there was this hollow and empty feeling in my chest. I realized too late that I had left a part of me with you the day we parted ways. Just like I had also taken a part of you with me," Andrés confessed. He looked scared.

It was the first time Martín had seen Andrés look like that. It broke him.

"I get that you might probably hate me. I would too. I hate myself for doing this to you, for hurting you like this. I didn't know, cariño, you deserved so much better. But you have to believe me when I say that I love you," he added. 

A while passed before Martín spoke up again, his anger dying out. 

"I could never hate you. Sometimes I wish I could, though. It would have made things a lot easier," Martín voiced. He and Andrés were standing only centimeters apart. Martín started tracing Andrés' features, just like he had done years ago. 

He traced Andrés' lips with his fingers. They felt soft in comparison to his own chapped ones. He swallowed hard, coming hyper-aware of Andrés' eyes on him. 

"I love you too," Martín whispered, and that became the sign for Andrés to close the gap between them, and finally press his lips on Martín’s again. 

Andrés' one hand cupped Martín's cheek and the other was holding his neck. The kiss reminded Martín of their first one, but at the same time, it was totally different. Martín was holding Andrés by his waist tightly, as if he was scared he'd disappear into thin air.

Their mouths synched as one. Andrés' tongue was poking at Martín's bottom lip, asking him for permission, which Martín granted gladly. The kiss was passionate, desperate but at the same time it was tender, too. It was Andrés declaring his love in yet another way, and asking for forgiveness. And then there was Martín clinging onto it, onto the love that was being given to him. Because it was what he always wanted, but thought he could never have. 

All too soon they broke apart again, catching their breaths. With their foreheads pressed together, Martín could see the tears rolling on Andrés' cheek. Just like Andrés had done to him earlier, he wiped them away right before he himself broke out in sobs again.

Martín couldn't quite register everything that had happened, but he did know one thing. It was that no matter what would happen now, he'd got to share it with Andrés by his side. Finally, Martín could start letting himself heal the wounds that had been opened and re-opened time and time again.

The both of them still had a journey to walk, Martín knew that, but they would do it together. It would cost time, but Martín didn't mind. 

After all, they had an eternity laying ahead of them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! you can always find me on [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/hannib4l)

**Author's Note:**

> this work was beta'd by my wonderful friend lina aka [maleclipse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maleclipse) on Ao3. again I want to say a big thanks to you for helping me rephrase and check for errors! you're amazing and I love you.
> 
> You can always follow me on my [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/hannib4l).


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